The Point Of No Return
by Seripithus
Summary: When the irresistible force hits an immovable object, the resulting chemical reaction can be catastrophic. Spoilers for SW storyline. Other OCs mentioned, but this focuses solely on the SW and Quinn's relationship, starting first with "the thing" and moving onward into a series of vignettes set prior to "the thing."
1. Et Tu?

_**Author's Note: **MASSIVE SPOILER ALERTS FOR SITH WARRIOR ACT III! My headcanon for my F!SW and Malavai Quinn._**  
**

* * *

**THE POINT OF NO RETURN**

_Say you'll share with me _  
_ One love, one lifetime _  
_ Lead me, save me from my solitude _

_ Say you want me _  
_ With you here _  
_ Beside you _  
_ Anywhere you go _  
_ Let me go too_

_...That's All I Ask Of You  
_

"Get him out of my sight. Lock him in the brig until I decide what to do with that... Why are _you_ staring at me like you don't understand a word I'm saying! Do you hear me, Vette? Put him in the damn brig before I put you in the med-bay!"

"But, My Lord, his wounds−"

"I don't care about _his_ wounds. If you don't hurry up you will have to worry about your own."

"I don't want to do this. Something's wrong with all of this. Tell me what's going on and I'll do it. Otherwise, get Jaessa to do it."

Without another moment's passing, I raise my hand toward, poised to slap her across the face. She visibly flinches. I stare Vette down with a glare. "You know I'm not afraid of choking you. Perhaps you miss the shock collar. Do what I say or you will be reacquainted with your old friend."

"Just tell me what happened out there! Why are you so angry? I thought you were getting better? Why do we have to lock him up? I thought you both were−"

"You have three seconds before I search for the collar."

"Why can't you tell us?"

"Master−" Jaessa tries to speak up, but is drowned out by my argument with the Twi'lek.

"One."

"_Jaessa!_ Tell your master to stop this. Don't you get the feeling that something's seriously wrong? Even you, the Queen of Freaky, has to see it!" Jaessa does not respond. Vette stands astonished, with her jaw dropped. "Am I the only one who sees it?"

"_Two_."

"Vette, just do what she says, alright!" Jaessa finally yells out after folding her arms across her chest. "Quit complaining."

"I have all the right to know what's going on. Our Lord comes back seething and with an unconscious Captain Stiffpants Qui−"

I narrow my brows in frustration and, with the Force, throw a nearby piece of equipment against the closest metal wall. The Force flows through me, and I seethe with fury, to the point where electricity crackles around my arms and fingers. The resulting crashing and shattering noise startles Vette and Jaessa into silence, further ending their back and forth banter.

"_Don't_ use his name. Not around me. He is _nothing_ to me," I spat. My voice is mechanical and coarse due to the ventilator. I have to remember to breathe. I close my eyes and rub the bridge of my nose, over the bridge of metal. "Lock him up and let him rot. We are getting rid of him at the next deserted planet. Hopefully Tatooine."

"B-but... well, I thought, we thought that you both were−" Vette stutters out.

"You thought _wrong_. Horribly wrong."

I look from Vette to Jaessa. I feel my anger begin to fade and everything begins to swirl. The weight of his new reality is too much. I turn on my heel and head for my quarters without further comment. Before I manage to close and lock my door, I hear the two women begin to start squabbling again over who will put him in the brig. I grit my teeth and yell out, "Just do as I say before I personally choke you both until you no longer know heads or tails."

The two fall silent again. I glance over my shoulder and glare at them both. Their eyes are wide. I can sense their fear.

"Of course, right away Master −"

"Okay," Vette squeaks out. She is visibly trembling. "As you wish."

"_Just do it!_ Quit groveling, both of you!"

The ruse.

The heavy door slams shut behind me and I scream. I fall against the door and slide down to the cold metal grating with a hand tugging at my hair. My eyes are wide and I stand at the emotional brink. I tell myself that I cannot cry. Crying is a sign of weakness, and weakness is the worst means to combat this issue. I have to let my anger, my rage, and my hate fuel me. Sadness and grief do not give strength. They do not drive my purpose. Those are extraneous.

_Everything was a part of a plot. _

_I told him everything. _

_I cared for him. He cared for me. _

_ I helped him. He listened. _

_ He kissed me. I kissed him back. _

_ He said he loved me. I told him I loved him too. _

_ I married him. He is my husband. _

I shudder and feel my grip on my emotions falter. My hands are trembling, grasping at air, the armor, or my arms. I fumble with the ventilator on the lower half of my face but manage to take it off in a few minutes. It falls to the metal floor with a clatter. I have to hold myself together. But it is too much. Too much to bear. Too much to understand. I close my eyes but all I see are his eyes. I hear his voice, I feel his skin against mine, but he is hurting me, not loving me. The bruises on my neck, hidden by the armor are not from his mouth, his lips, but from his hands squeezing.

My quarters are mostly messy, but I look across the bed and see his side. It is the made up part of my bed where he slept just hours ago, when he still loved me, when I _thought_ he loved me. And then his spare clothes, folded on top of the sheets. His boots are on the ground, with the laces tied. There is a faint shine; he recently cleaned them. His things are always taken care of, managed. They lay there as a token of the recent past. The ruse. Even the smallest details are the foundation for the lies.

Some cold, angry part of me wishes to make his side of the bed, his portion, messy. To untie his shoes. To create chaos again. I understand chaos. Yes, this entire predicament is in fact the epitome of chaos. But it is _planned_ chaos. It is not spontaneous combustion. It is different. It is a premeditated fire and it is burning everything that I believed to be resilient and fireproof.

I see his documents sitting on top of the table − his papers, his high-priority files, his projects, all for the Empire. They too are too neat, too organized, and too planned. Where in those papers does it address his betrayal? Where is the bureaucracy in his betrayal? Are there letters from Baras? Is this where he schemed? In our shared quarters?

Somehow I manage to find my senses and regain a shred of strength. I close my eyes and stand. My body aches and yells in protest. I move slowly. How long have I been sitting there, by the door, trying not to cry or scream? My body is physically drained and exhausted. Everything is tender and the blotches on my pale skin are testament to the struggle. Those are his wounds. He gave those to me. It was his blaster shooting me. His knife in my side. His hands on my neck. His battle-droids firing at peak efficiency in my direction, aimed at me. My knuckles are swollen from where I punched him. My eyes are sore. Everything hurts. But nothing compares to the internal wounds. The wounds you cannot see, but can only feel.

The betrayal.

I told him everything. I told him my dark secrets. The things I never shared, the things I never thought I would want to share. Not even to Nietcha, my sister. There are some things that are more than private. They are intimate. I thought we were one. I thought the Force created a bond. Maybe we still have a bond. Maybe the hurt is the sign. But I am only denying reality and replacing this reality with false hopes. That is weakness.

There is a knock at my door. I turn and contemplate whether or not I want to or should unlock the door. I know that whoever is behind the door is as confused as I am, if not more. The truth is in front of me, but they still do not know. Eventually they will need to know. I decide to unlock the door.

The door opens and Vette stands with her arms folded.

"We did as you asked."

I nod.

"Jaessa and Pierce are asking questions. Jaessa is in hysterics. She is overwhelmed. I gave her some medicine and she fell asleep. Pierce is watching... you know, it, I guess. Jaessa knows that something is seriously wrong, and she wants to help, because it is hurting her too. She feels the cocktail of emotions inside of you through the Force. It's freaky, but we all feel it somehow."

I stare at her. I find her bravery admirable, but this admiration is diluted and fleeting. My hand grips the doorframe. The fingers have dried blood on them and they still are throbbing. The cold metal is soothing. She stares back at me, waiting for a response. I shrug my shoulders. Vette never did like silence. It destabilizes her and leaves her on edge; it's why she is a blabber-mouth.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"No."

Silence falls between us again, and I slump against the doorframe. She tentatively reaches out and places a hand on my shoulder, soft and gentle, and despite my knowing very well that her desire to help is genuine (for I have helped her many times before), I flinch away.

"You need medical attention. Let us help you."

"I don't care."

I know that no amount of kolto packs can help me now. Even though I normally do not find comfort in the act of being wounded, the pain contrasts with the other wounds. It is a distraction.

Vette hesitates, but breaks the silence again, "He− I mean − it's stable, if you wanted to know. Still unconscious."

"I don't care."

"Okay. Alright."

I said nothing further. I could not even raise my head. It felt too heavy. Neither of us said anything for a few minutes. I wanted something, wanted something other than this awkward conversation, but I did not outwardly say it.

"Are you sure you don't want to talk?"

"Yes."

"We're here for you. Whatever it is."

"No. You aren't. You really aren't."

"Whatever it is, we'll get through it."

"No, _I _will get through it." I correct her with an added glare. "This doesn't concern you."

"No, we're a team, aren't we? Sort of? I would hope that we deserve the right to know what's going on with you. We... well, it isn't exactly caring, it's just, you're our leader. We follow you."

"Yeah? Well, you all can get lost when we hit the next spaceport. I don't need any of you."

Vette hesitates. I wonder if she's thinking about whether or not I'm being serious. In any other situation, in any other mood, I might have found that humorous. But it's annoying now.

"You know we won't do that."

"Frankly I don't give a damn what you do anymore."

I lack a desire to care. I shrug and look at the hand on the doorframe. I am unable to meet her gaze anymore. I feel degraded and ashamed for showing her my weakness. She will just use it against me. She is afterall a loudmouth. Who knows what she blabbed to _him_.

Vette frowns and turns her head, as if someone called her name from another room. She hesitates again, as if she is contemplating whether or not to continue this horribly difficult and awkward discussion, but she chooses to stay and drag the conversation out further. She pretends to be oblivious to the previous conversation.

"Where are we heading to now?"

"I don't care."

"My Lord−"

"Don't. Don't call me that."

"You have to care."

"I don't have to do anything, Vette," I growl.

"Of course, you're right."

"Quit groveling."

Her eyes wander, and she is looking at the tense grip I have on the doorframe. She is choosing her words carefully now.

"Do you...er, do you want me to come get you when it wakes up?"

My hand falls away from the doorframe and I narrow my brows. My jaw tightens. My hands clench into fists. "_Go away_." It is not a request and she understands from the recognizable tone of voice. She knows that this conversation is ceased. The door shuts a few moments later with a thud.

The lies.

I do not check to see what time it is. I sit down on my side of the bed and stare at the wall. The urge to turn around and look at his side is difficult to resist. I can only blink away what I hope is something other than tears in my eyes. Baras succeeded in more ways than one. Although I never doubted his ability to manipulate a situation for his own benefit, I was blind to the reality that I could be broken by attachment. It is a difficult fact to accept: that perhaps there is something to the Jedi restriction upon attachments. Attachments only hurt in the end.

I sit in a stupor for awhile, and without knowing how much time has passed, I can no longer resist. I turn and look at his side of the bed. I lay down and run my fingers over his uniform. The material is cold, the cloth like leather. His decorations are here. Today he did not need them. There is no honor in betraying your loved one. Or at least your _presumed_ loved one.

I go over the past and the present as if they are holorecordings stuck in my head. It is cathartic. I try to understand. I try to rationalize something that cannot be rationalized.

_When did our relationship become a ruse? _

_ Was it always a ruse? _

_ Can you really fake emotions so perfectly?_

_ Are you a robot?_

_ Did they teach you that in the Imperial Academy?_

_ It wouldn't surprise me. They did it to Nietcha too._

_ When you whispered 'I love you' did you cringe inside? _

We made love here on this bed. He held me here. I remember. His hand in mine. His eyes half-closed, half-asleep, all alive. I treated him like an equal. In those quiet moments you are vulnerable and exposed. The world outside those sheets is meaningless. It is what happens together in the other's arms that matters. What matters is the feelings. I try to believe that emotions cannot be faked, not when I experience them in their rawest manner. When life becomes a game of a relentless chase, a never-ending hunt, you value the small moments, the small details, so much more. It is not the quantity of those moments, it is the quality. I valued his presence in my life. His opinion mattered. But the quality is ruined now.

_ Was it all forced?_

_ Are you really that weak?_

_ Do I really mean nothing to you?_

But the ache is too real and it is too soon to ask these questions and expect a response other than sadness. So I fall asleep without wanting to.

Dreams only make it worse, I decide the next time I wake up. I am sprawled out on top of the sheets, holding onto his now crinkled uniform. I can still faintly smell him or at least my mind tricks me into thinking its him still lingering. I would have preferred nightmares. At least nightmares would be consistent with reality. Nightmares are chaos. The mind knows what the heart wants, and in dreams the heart acquires what it wants. It ascertains the unobtainable, and moments feel like hours, and everything is soft and warm and it feels so real and it is so close, but then suddenly you are falling and falling and you are awake with a start, and it is over, with the moment having passed, and it starts to slip away. Dreams hurt more because waking up reopens the wound. Waking up from a lucid dream and realizing that the dream is over and reality is back in place is more of a shock than dunking one's head into cold water.

I feel conflicted, and this conflict infects the wound until it is festering. I am wounded and lost. There is no power in mourning. Only weakness. But sadness and grief are emotions, like passion, and cannot be ignored. But these emotions, all of them, are chains. I want to break free. The struggle lies in this desire to release oneself of all these burdening emotions and choose anger and hate. It is easier said than done. Anger and hate can only sustain an individual so much as an adventurer can survive without water in the desert. We reach forward and cup the water, hoping it quenches our thirst. We only desire more.

Perhaps it will not be necessary to explain what happened to the others. Perhaps it will just fade. Things happen. Things change. Once he is gone, abandoned on some planet, he will fade from our minds and thoughts until one of us makes a mistake, and the wound cracks open again, ever present, just dormant. It is still easier said than done.

There is another knock at my door. Dread falls upon my shoulders. Whoever stands on the other side of the door is radiating emotions similar to mine. I presume it to be Jaessa, overwhelmed and disturbed by these occurrences. Certainly Vette mentioned my despondence to the others after our most recent encounter. Without putting too much thought into the matter, because I do not wish to be bothered, I stand and unlock the door again. The door rises and everything falls still.

I want to be angry and furious and cold and callous and bitter, but nothing comes up, and my consciousness feels detached from my body. I stand motionless and would be limp if not for my ever conditioned body holding me upright. I feel nothing but a hollowness.

He stands before me like a wounded creature waiting to be devoured by its predator. I would believe him to be struck speechless if not for his body betraying him − hands clenching and unclenching, heart palpitating, pulse quickening. There are some things you can feel through the Force with those you are, or were, most intimate with. It is not a comfort, only a curse now.

He dares to break the silence.

"Vette let me free."

Given my past experiences in relation to Vette, I would normally curse under my breath or fold my arms, all signs of my annoyance. Despite this great transgression, and again, another betrayal of my orders and trust, I do not raise my voice beyond a low, raw tone that I manage to not let falter.

"I am not surprised."

"We are on Dromund Kaas. The others went out."

This banter, even as casual and unimportant as it is, tears open the wound and I can no longer ignore it. I raise my voice and my jaw tenses.

"Is that what you want? To have the ship all to ourselves? Why? So you can deal the killing blow?"

I glare at him, and hope that my leer is as potent as a lightsaber burn. He shifts his weight and he grimaces. I realize that he is still suffering from his own wounds. The uniform he is wearing is still singed and ruined. He is clutching at his side where my lightsaber potently nicked him. There is dried blood on his hands.

"I want to know what you will do with me."

"I don't care."

"I'm sorry, but I don't understand what that means in this context."

"Am I stuttering? I said that I don't care what you do."

"But I−"

"If you are crawling back to me expecting pity or remorse or a chivalrous sense of forgiveness, you might as well start running while you can."

"I expect none of the sort." Another wince.

I roll my eyes and fold my arms. I suppress a grimace as best as I can. "Then what do you want?"

"To begin re-earning your trust."

"It took you several years to earn my trust. You think you can just earn it again with so much as a simple request?"

"Punish me."

"I don't want or need your groveling. I don't need you." The words come out easier than I expected. It is easier to say a lie than to say the truth. All I have ever done is push people away. Then again, never has someone come back to me asking for forgiveness and actually meant it.

There is a silence that hangs heavy in the air like a miasma of a plague. He lowers his gaze, hangs is head, but then he looks up at me and says something that surprises me, "Please kill me. I did not expect to live through that battle. I deserve the death of a traitor. Traitors are executed in the Empire. As I servant of the Sith Empire, I employ you to kill me."

"Can you _hear_ yourself?"

"I know what I said."

"Sometimes mercy can be unmerciful."

"I realize that."

"You want to die. Why? What for? Because you are too cowardly to live in dishonor? Because the reality is too difficult for you to bear? You made your decision. You showed where your loyalties lie."

"I did not expect to live through that battle." He pauses and stands up straight. "I told you that I regretted that decision."

"And why is that? Because you failed miserably?"

"I..." he hesitates, and I am ashamed to recognize the sharp spike of pain in my chest. "It was a difficult decision."

"It was a decision regardless, and you chose your path."

"I made a mistake, Yvie. I made a blind decision. My calculations were purposefully off."

I lift my hand and I hold it steady. All it would take is a small squeeze, and I could choke him to death. He did not deserve the right to use my name. "And how is that, worm?"

"Baras... he told me that he would kill you one way or another. He offered me the opportunity to kill you."

"And you took it!" I scoff and fold my arms. I stand incredulous. "This isn't helping your case at all, you idiot!"

"Let me finish," he states quietly. "I... I knew what he would do to you. He wouldn't let you die with just a single blow. I've seen him battle before. I've seen him torture other Force users. He would have destroyed you over several years, perhaps decades. The... the pain... it would have been insufferable. I couldn't let that happen to you."

"You think I'm so weak as to fall to Baras? Do you not think I can defeat him?"

"I don't know. I made my own calculations based upon my observations, from now until when I met you, and given Baras's experience and your own, the chances of you being bested were higher than your success." He lowered his eyes. "I'm... I didn't, I couldn't let him hurt you."

"You thought that by killing me you would be sparing me? How in hell does that make any sense?"

He does not reply. His eyes widen and his right hand reaches forward and touches my cheek. I do not recoil but watch him with caution. "Yvie," he lets out a low sigh, "Because when two objects moving at the same speed and same force collide, sometimes an explosive reaction occurs as a result. I thought maybe you would kill me, or maybe that we would both kill each other. Maybe that we would cancel each other out. I thought the results would be different than what transpired. You won our duel to the death, and I was supposed to die. I'm not supposed to be alive. You gave me mercy."

"And what do you want me to do? Kill you? I already told you. Sometimes it's more cruel to give someone short-term mercy."

He makes a low noise out of frustration. "Don't you understand? I did what I did because I loved you. I didn't want you to die by Baras's hand! He wouldn't have let you die. You would be nothing but an empty shell, a plaything of his! I've seen what he's done!" He pauses. "But I was wrong. My calculations were off. You _can_ defeat Baras whether or not I am by your side. I am expendable."

My eyes widen for a moment, but I catch myself. "Why should I listen to you? You're nothing but a liar."

"_Yvie_, please, you've given me so much. You helped me rebuild my dignity, but I tarnished it. But my loyalty to you, my love, that was not a lie. It would never be a lie. I would never do that to you. I still love you. I betrayed your trust. I made a mistake. I ask to either regain your trust or be killed by your hand." His voice trembles, but his eyes remain fixed on me.

I can sense the turmoil, the shame, the self-loathing, and the regret quaking in his bones. I want to believe him, but I cannot appear weak.

"If not killed," his voice lowers; the emotion shakes his words, and he can barely speak. "Torture me. Feed me to a rancor. Prod my mind with the Force. Destroy it from the inside. Abandon me on Tatooine. On Hoth." He pauses and his final plea is enough to make me wince. "Please."

Spite rises like bile in my throat. I stare him down as best as I can, but even now I am trembling. I cannot appear weak. I must remain strong in front of him, in front of them all. They will use it to their advantage otherwise. It is difficult because his words, his body language, his voice, it all is sincere. Raw emotions cannot be faked. They have to be real.

_If they are not real then what is?_

_ But I cannot make the same mistake twice._

"You thought I loved you? You thought I cared about you? You thought I valued you?" It is hard to speak. My voice cracks. "You thought I meant it? How foolish you really are. I thought you were smarter than this. You couldn't see a lie right in front of your eyes? You couldn't see me using you in turn? Why do I need you if I have the Emperor, or better yet, have all the power I need vested in the Force? I don't need you."

_But I do. _

_ Please, don't believe a word I say._

_ Be smart. Use that brilliant brain to peak efficiency. _

It takes a prolonged moment of silence and an even more significantly daring gesture on his behalf to make me realize that I am more exposed than ever before in front of someone else. He reaches out with his blood-stained palm and brushes my wet cheek. I can smell the iron and sweat. His fingertips are rough and more calloused than I remember.

_ Fight for this. Fight for us. _

_ Help me believe you because I want to._

_ A_nger dissipates. The truth can vary. Dreams are images of what the heart wants. This doctrine can carry over into reality, if you are willing to stretch the truth. I lean my cheek into his palm. I close my eyes. I hear him grunt from a wince and then I am in his arms. He holds me. I am reluctant. The emotions are raw and sharp and jagged and the truth is I cannot let anger drive me forward. I cannot succeed with just anger and a thirst for vengeance. I must fight for something more than that.

If he is willing to fight for it, then I must try to fight as well. My hands are then on his back, fingers spread wide, feeling his muscles, feeling his bones, feeling the contours over warm clothing. There is a small fire and it sheds a little warmth. It combats the darkness. The galaxy is a cold place.

_ I still love you. _

I tilt my head and brush his lips and it is like I am tasting them for the first time. The slate is clean and fresh for new memories and dreams.


	2. What Sweet Seduction Lies Before Us?

**Author's Note**: _So I've finally managed to finish more of the Sith Warrior storyline. In the process I've been inspired to write. I'm tacking this onto this story with then intention of having the first chapter be the present, post betrayal, and these later chapters serving as vignettes into their relationship prior to said betrayal._ _This takes place at the beginning of Act II. Also the rating has risen to accommodate mature themes._

* * *

"Captain Quinn," I pause and smile to myself, "_Malavai_."

"I'm here My Lord."

"Call me Yvie, you know that you are allowed."

"It's... Informal to do so, but if you request so I shall willingly oblige on your behalf."

"You use too many words." It took only a second of leaning in, moving closer to the apex of his lips, almost there, and then vanishing into thin air-tantalizing and foreign, the curse of a dream. I awake to the sound of a fist banging against the metal door to my quarters. Foiled, once again by my own consciousness. Ruined by own traitorous dreams.

I am not in the mood this morning. I growl and fling off the sheets from my bed. I stomp over to the panel, slamming my fist against the button to open the door, and immediately begin to yell.

"Why don't you bang louder? I don't think they could hear you on Dromund Kaas."

It's Vette of course. She stands with her arms clasped behind her back. Never cowering, but instead standing her ground with levity.

"Who set your pants on fire this early?" Her smile is warm despite by blatant rudeness. "It's nearly twelve hundred hours."

"It's my damn ship, I'll wake up as I please."

"Well, we're about to land on Nar Shaddaa again. Quinn says ten minutes till we land." She smiles and reached out to ruffle my pale blonde hair. "C'mon sleepyhead. Time to rise and shine and well, take care of Baras' dirty work on this planet once again."

I reach up and grab her wrist gently, pushing her hand away. "Please don't touch me, Vette, first of all." I let her wrist go and I glare. "Second, Captain Quinn can come to me if he wants to inform me of our arrivals and departures."

"Err, but he said that he ought to-"

"I don't care about what he said. Tell him that he's to tell me when we're arriving. That's an order for you both."

"Alright, alright." She takes a step back and her blue lekku sway. "Queen Jaesa Freaky Pants is up and ready to leave."

"Don't call her that. If you call her that then you're going to be called Vexing Vette."

"Fine." Vette sighs, shrugs, and then walked away to inform Quinn. Another day, another grumpy Sith.

* * *

"You requested that I inform you of our arrivals and departures, My Lord." Quinn steps into my quarters and stands perfectly straight, erect, and ready for new orders after returning to the ship after our excursion to Nar Shaddaa. I wonder often if his back aches from standing erect so much.

"That's correct. I told you that a week ago. How come you disobeyed my orders by sending Vette instead?"

"I was busy My Lord-"

"I don't care if you're busy. You're to report to me as I request."

"Yes, of course My Lord." His eyes remain fixed upon me. "Was there something else you required?"

"Yes and no," I state nonchalantly. I thumb through some files on my datapad. A moment later my eyes flash up and I stare at him for longer than I expected. With the moment's passing, I sigh and give in. "I need a medical examination."

"Is something wrong My Lord? Are you catching cold, stomach pains? Is it menstrual cramps-" He sounds genuinely concerned, but I'm not interested in divulging too deeply into personal health.

"No, I need a psychological exam."

I'm immediately bombarded with an inquisition, not an exam. "Have you been sleeping? Have you lost your appetite? What's bothering you? Are you experiencing listlessness? Anxiety?"

"A series of," I feel humiliated for stumbling over my own words. "Difficult dreams."

"Difficulty sleeping can be caused by a variety of treatable illnesses. Are they nightmares or simply unsettling anxiety ridden dreams? How often do they occur?"

I frown and shake my head. I realize that this has been a terrible mistake, and I fear I've shown too vivid of a weakness to someone else. I begin to leave the med-bay but he stops me by placing a hand on my shoulder.

"What makes them difficult?"

I breath in deeply. Now this is what I wanted: an ear to listen. My hands clasp behind my back and I off-handedly gesture that we both take a seat with myself on top of the med-table and Quinn seated at his desk.

"They're..." I trail off. I can't say it, not without grimacing and narrowing my brows. "About my sister and brother."

"I didn't know you had siblings My Lord."

"No one besides Intelligence and now yourself know."

"What are these dreams about?"

"My sister and I are twins. She is an agent of Intelligence as far as I know. Likely goes under a new name."

"And what happens?"

"She betrays me. She's a double agent. She kills me before I have the chance to kill her."

I see Malavai hesitate. He wants to ask something controversial I imagine. "Just spit out your question."

"I am simply wondering why you desire to kill your sister."

"She's a complete bitch for one," I chuckle darkly with a wide grin. "We always were seen as one whole. We're two different people. Nietcha and I are sisters. We aren't one unit. She's a thief while I'm a brute."

"Typical for Intelligence to be full of thieves." He scoffed. "The Imperial military irons that out."

I shrugged.

"But why do you want to kill your sister?"

"My brother and her betrayed me. Ibonar, my brother, joined the Jedi though he was meant for Korriban. I entered the Sith academy. Nietcha only followed me into the Empire because she 'didn't want to abandon me.' She lied to me about our parents who were Imperial sympathizers. Feared I would see this news as a way of legitimizing my destiny on Korriban. She didn't want to join the Empire. She wanted to leave with Ibonar. But she claimed that I would be destroyed here. Well I'm still very much alive." I sigh and shrug. "She never told me that our parents worked for the Empire secretively. She found out through Intelligence. She kept that from me hoping that I might concede and we would leave the Empire to join Ibonar. It took violence to convince her that I was happy here."

"Why is your sister in Intelligence of all things?"

"Not Force Sensitive. It was her only way to survive. I don't know where she is..."

* * *

Malavai listens attentively as I tell my story. I have never told someone the long convoluted story of my relationship with my family, or what is left of it. We sit on my bed now, having left the med-bay. It's late in the evening, and I do not wish to disturb the rest of my crew. I rest with my head against the metallic headboard and with my legs crossed. I'm dressed in skin tight black shorts and a black breast-binder. As Malavai listens, I watch him closely. His respect is remarkable, and his eyes never falter as much as I might have presumed.

Eventually I can't handle it anymore. I'm sick of dwelling on Nietcha and Ibonar.

"There are other dreams."

"Yes? What are the rest about?"

"Someone on this ship."

A pause. "Regarding what?"

"I'm usually having sex with him. Repeatedly. It's foggy though."

Another pause. My eyes flash upwards and I feel the distinct wave of conflicting, raw emotions within him. He is taught and tense like a spring ready to release. This turn of events is unexpected and his surprise is clearly stricken across his features.

"And whom were you having coitus with?"

"Who isn't the question, it's whether or not he'll make my dream become reality."

Quinn drops the act. "You know that's against protocol. We have discussed this matter before, My Lord-"

"But that's what makes it so much more delicious. The foreboding sense that we will be caught."

"I don't think it would work."

I crawl over to where he sits and curl a finger under his chin, silently requesting that he look into my eyes.

"In fact Malavai, I want to be touched and teased and tormented by you, all of you, while you list all of the rules we've broken and all the ones we will be breaking."

His cheeks flush and the muscles in his jaw tighten. "Oh?"

"Oh yes, Malavai," I draw out. "In the lowest, darkest voice of yours." I lean forward and my lips suck on his left earlobe. As his breath catches in his throat, I murmur, "You know which one." My hand trails down his pristine uniform and settles on his hip. "Stars Quinn I want you so badly. Will you continue to deny yourself? You've already proven that you are willing to glimpse into the abyss, so take my hand and I promise you won't regret this fall. You gave in once-you kissed me. Will you not trust me?"

His eyes meet mine and he grabs my head to hold me steady.

"I want to see what's beneath the uniform and the protocol and the immaculate posture. Oh how I would _love_ to see you slouch!" I chuckle and grins. "Better yet, I want to hear all of the vulgar you save for my poor Vette and incompetent soldiers under your command."

"It could threaten our professional relationship. Should one of us become comprised."

"Together we can be something formidable, something invincible. The greatest officer to adorn himself in the Empire and the rising star of the Sith. Shaping the galaxy, shaping the very stars. Does that not ignite a spark inside of you? Is there nothing that will melt your heart? Let me stoke that flame, let me bring you to life."

"You're waxing poetic, My Lord."

My lips curl into an amused and relaxed smile. "Sometimes the abyss isn't so abysmal."

"If I agree to this, My Lord, if I give in to these...fancies, there is no turning back."

My eyes flash back and forth from his lips to his blue eyes, and it's hard to resist him-damn the man for being this stubborn. "Past the point of no return. Such an ultimatum, Quinn." My features soften, if for a brief moment. I drop the wantonness, the lust and desire, and I concede to his unspoken meaning. "Loyalty is something I value in my life. I am many things, Malavai, but I am not a traitor. If you are concerned that this is simply a folly, a romp in a dark alley, the ministrations of a Sith upon an individual lower in ranking, then I implore you to search more deeply into our tip-toed affairs. I respect you more than that."

"Permission to kiss you, My Lord?"

I beam as I lean against him again, and though it's clearly my answer, I pause before his lips.

"One condition. I refuse to give you permission to call me 'My Lord.' I have a name and I give you the exclusive right to use my name in this room."

"A reasonable condition, my dear lady, Yvie."

"That's cheating." I can't help but grin nonetheless.

He closes the gap and pulls my body flush against his uniform, into his lap, and his hand tangles itself into my light blonde hair as his lips glide over my own. I moan when my lower half shifts slightly and feels the growing tightness in his trousers. When we part, breaths mingling together, he sternly looks into my eyes and the floodgate holding back his emotions is gone. His passion is potent and fiery, and I can sense this new found spirit through the Force. The added sensations are tantalizing.

"Oh Malavai please tell me you've thought about this. _Fantasized_. I want to hear every intricate, precise detail."

His brief but smug smirk is foreign and exotic and of course erotic, and it's my answer.

"Did I not say that thoughts of you distract me?" His lips fall to the slope of my neck. He murmurs, "I take you to the very edge, to the very brink of ecstasy, and I force you to wait it out, to beg for my mercy, and when I bequeath mercy my name will slip from your lips with a scream. I take you on the bridge, in the Captain's chair. In the medbay," he groans, "in your quarters against the wall. On your bed."

"Yes, _yes_ to all of that."

"I bind your wrists over your head and you are mine and mine alone. Blindfolded. Bound to _my_ will."

I moan and run my hand through his pristine slicked back hair, causing it to become messy and stand on its own.

"My, my what a dirty mind of yours."

"The mind is a mysterious entity. It is illogical and yet so potent, so seductive." His hand falls to my breast and squeezes through the fabric. There are too many clothes on my body and I want to tease orders to him, to demand that he undress me this instant.

"_Poignantly_ seductive."

"A wise word choice."


	3. Longing

**Author's Note**: _This vignette is set post-Belsavis._ _The poem is not my own, and it's _Longing_ by Matthew Arnold. I'm not one for making up poetry, but I feel that _Longing_ sums up a lot of Quinn's feelings in the romance arc toward the Warrior. _

* * *

I slump against the airlock and punch in the key code.

"It'll open in a moment," I tell Quinn over my shoulder. "I'll set up the nav. computer while you tend to them." Quinn comes behind her, having carefully dragged Vette and Jaesa over. "I'll get Pierce for you."

"Negative, my Lord, he's stirring."

I grin beneath the ventilator. "Blasted man is like a juggernaut."

"He can be impressive when he indeed tries to be."

The airlock whizzes open with a gust of air and the two girls are brought inside. Pierce staggers to his feet and slowly walks onto the ship as well.

"Glad to see that fuckin' scum got dealt with. We nearly 'ad 'im."

"Draahg was a challenge," I rub my forehead and apply pressure to my temple. My pulse races beneath my fingers, and I let out a low groan.

"I'll fully admit it, but he's burning beneath our feet now. That's the fate of traitors."

Pierce nods and helps Quinn by lifting the two unconscious girls over his shoulder, carrying them to the med-bay. The walk to the bridge is arduous, and I find it harder to put one foot before the other. My head spins and the ground is shaky. In one instance, my vision blurs and I lose my footing. I catch myself against the closed entrance to the bridge. Quinn's code is simple, but in my dizziness I forget the numbers. As I type in countless strings of possibilities, I become further incensed and as if aware of my fury, the code finally accepts and I'm granted access.

The galaxy map appears before me, too bright for my eyes and I have to squint as I plot a course for the emptiness of space, where Baras cannot easily find us.

Eventually I wander out of the bridge, now finding it necessary to clutch at my stomach. The cloth light armor's growing warmth and stickiness reminds me that the traitor nicked me in the side and punched me there. My other hand fumbles with the ventilator's straps, eager to breath the cool air of the ship on my own. I slump against the common room's wall. The ventilator clatters to the floor and I breathe deeply, filling my lungs to capacity, only to experience a sharp, nearly debilitating jab of pain.

* * *

"My Lord, I've finished-_My Lord!_" I hear Quinn's loud, rushed footsteps and I tilt my head as well as I can to see him kneeling beside me, pressing two fingers to my pulse and tapping my cheek in order to keep me awake. "My Lord I specifically _requested_ that you tell me if you were injured."

"Others needed..."

"They are patched up now. You should have called out." He turns his head and yells, "Lieutenant, move Ms. Wilsaam and Vette out of the med-bay. They will need sufficient, unperturbed rest."

"Alright, alright," I hear coming from the med-bag. Pierce appears carrying Jaesa and Vette over his shoulder as if they are the rag dolls from my early youth. He sees myself and Quinn, and he adds, "I'll come get our Lord for you Quinn. Hold tight."

"That will be thoroughly unnecessary, Lieutenant." Malavai leans forward and slides supporting arms underneath my knees and shoulders. He temporarily struggles to stand up, almost staggering, given the heavy nature of the armor, but he manages, and Pierce's smugness ebbs away.

"Go on, help the others settle in. If you need a stim shot or kolto there is a supply of such in the med-bay, second cabinet, third shelf. Don't touch anything else."

Pierce's expression darkens, and he's clearly disappointed by Quinn's abilities and right as a medical expert to take care of me. Quinn takes me to my quarters instead of the med-bay. The special treatment is clear, but I am their leader and Quinn is my captain.

* * *

"It's a deep puncture wound. Most of the blood has cauterized and dried by now." Quinn dampens a clean, soft cloth with kolto antibacterial medicine. He then begins to clean out the wound, and I yelp from the localized stinging.

"Apologies, my Lord, the stinging shall subside soon."

I nod and bite my lip to counteract the pain.

"How are the others?" I rasp after gaining my composure.

"Battered severely, I imagine everyone will need a short reprieve from battle."

"I'll contact the Hand the moment I can."

Quinn tends to me no longer as simply a subordinate officer to a commanding general, all seriousness, stiffness, and the absence of comfort. Instead, he tends to me like a worried companion, with all the utterances of affection and silent compassion in his eyes. His hands are gentle like a lovers, yet still precise like a surgeons. When he looks up to me I see the acknowledged understanding between us, the reminder of why I love him and why he loves me. Behind closed doors he knows the dark crevasses of my heart, knows what drives my work, my duty, and my pleasure, and in turn I know the man beneath the protocol and the austere exterior.

As he begins to wrap the kolto around my lower abdomen and waist, I thoughtfully smile.

"Perhaps tonight you can read from that book of yours again. "

"They are quite fanciful, my Lord. Did you really enjoy them?"

"Yes, I quite honestly did. You can read poetry quite well. And I mean articulateness. Someday you ought to watch yourself in the mirror as you read. You need to see the spark in your eyes. Such passion for the written word."

"I've always held a penchant for poetry." He sighs. "It allows a different manner of escapism that I often needed on Balmorra."

"I can imagine the monotony would have been extreme."

"I hold pride in my work now, my dear lady Yvie, but the business of Balmorra was difficult, especially with the prevailing inability to seek advancement."

"Of course. They were cowards for not defying that delusional man with you." I carefully sit up after he finishes and touch his cheek, running my hands over his stubble and cheekbones. "And poetry continued to ignite that fire in you, however suppressed."

"Fanciful, nonetheless."

"It leads me to wonder if you read any fanciful love poems?"

Quinn laughs briefly and nods. "I read a few. They were certainly the most grandiose and superfluous in style and figurative language."

"I imagine you had a favorite."

"A favorite or so, indeed."

"_Tell me_," I whisper before capturing his lips briefly. When I pull away, I look into his eyes and grin mischievously.

In a flurry we remove our clothes. Once warm skin presses against warm skin, he brings my body into his arms, callous hands splayed out over my back, hand in my white-blonde hair, legs intertwined beneath the sheets. I'm reminded of why I love victory; it's a reminder that I'm alive and that I've lived another day to be entangled in between the sheets, to be worshiped and loved by the man who knows me better than anyone else.

It's a poem of longing, love, and lust. He recites the poem's stanzas in between panted breaths and lips that trail down my neck, over my collarbone, to my breast, lingering there, down my abdomen, and stop there. He looks up into her eyes and sighs contentedly.

_"'Come to me in my dreams, and then, By day I shall be well again.'"_

* * *

Later, after he's finished reciting the poem, and we're spent from a few gentle rounds of intimacy (he's mindful of my wounds), I rest my head on his chest and draw lazy circles on his skin.

"My Lord, your seduction tactics never fail."

"No, no, Quinn. Tonight _you_ did all of the seducing. Poetry is now to be considered a delightful kink of mine." I smirk and tilt my head in order to meet his eyes. "In fact, I think I'm going to encourage you to find dirty poetry on the HoloNET. Just be mindful to erase your datapad's history. All we need is for Vette or Jaesa to find it."

"I shudder to think of it, Yvie."


	4. Waiting To Become One

**Author's Note**: _This is set several months after the betrayal that occurred in chapter one._

* * *

**The Point Of No Return**

**Chapter Four**

_"Say you'll share with me one love, one lifetime."_

"Malavai, have you ever pondered about the future? I mean clearly you have, you are the ever ambitious sort, but in regard to where you wish to see yourself..." I trip up, sigh, and lean back against him.

Despite our rekindled romance and the rebuilding of trust, I find myself vulnerable and heavy in his arms. This man, who has seen the entire spectrum of my emotions, is the only one who knows the patience and mercy of the Emperor's Wrath.

"Are you asking if I ever thought about our future?" I nod. "Quit often, actually. After we began our courtship, I plotted the mental course, a timeline if you will, of what I personally hoped to see from our coupling beyond the physical and emotional."

"That's so Quinny of you.

"Perhaps, my dear Yvie." His laughter rumbles in my ears. Once it fades, his tone sobers, and I feel remorse wash over him. "Those dreams, I fear, were finished when I learned of Baras' looming betrayal, and I realized what I needed to do."

"Baras is dead, Malavai." I don't like discussing the bastard, and I hate how despite the old Sith's death, he still haunts our conversations too frequently after all this time.

"Yes, I know."

I reach up and touch his chin, then brush my fingers over his lips as we stare out the starboard observatory. The emptiness of space is soothing; it is like being cradled by two lovers, with the physical coldness of space and the living breathing contrast sitting behind me with his arms around my frame, loosely holding.

After silence passes and settles, I ask, "And now? What of your hopes?"

"It is difficult to say. I would truly enjoy staying by your side as your Captain in whatever capacity you see fit."

I hum thoughtfully. I close my eyes and tilt my head in order to lay a kiss on his cheek. "I do believe we were married quietly on Alderaan by an agent of House Thul." I smirk. "Surely you remember?"

"Of course. It was the happiest moment of my life." He pauses. "Baras made sure to ruin the afterglow of our joining. He contacted me while you slept."

I frown and narrow my brows. _To think that wretched man dared to impede upon my wedding night!_

"That was when he told me of his vile plans."

"I should've crushed his thick skull beneath my boot."

"While I concur with the sentiment, in the long-term it did not ruin a moment of my time spent with you. Every day, every second, you are an inspiration for me, and I wouldn't let Baras impinge upon that."

I smile and it grows wider as my thoughts drift back to that night on Alderaan.

"What a night it was, Quinn."

"I can set a course for Alderaan again, if you'd like."

"And what, what do you have in mind exactly?" I pause for dramatic effect. "Don't tell me you've finally conceded into going sledding with me."

"My Lord, you know I don't do well with snow and frigid temperatures."

"Only because you're afraid I'll start a war with a snow ball to your handsome face."

He laughs and squeezes me. "I was teasing the possibility that we may enjoy a second wedding, if you will. A fresh start without interference completely."

My body shifts and turns in order to face him. "Are you proposing to me again, Malavai?"

"Will you marry me again, Yvie Aurell?"

My hand reaches up and scratches my chin, playfully tormenting him with the feigned semblance of amused contemplation. "I suppose I'll have to marry you again, Captain Malavai Quinn, in spite of the long line of suitors begging for my hand."

He pulls me flush against his body, and though he knows my comment was stated in jest, he plays along and I revel in the passion and aggression in his tone, "I look forward to being the object of their envy, for you are mine and I am wholly yours."


End file.
